Maxed Out

Sniff, sniff. Smell that? No, not autumn, not Thanksgiving, not Halloween. That's the smell of hope. There's an election in the air and candidates are finally starting to fall out of the woodwork like leaves dropping from autumn trees.

The very large Canadian bank at which I used to work would, not infrequently, find itself at a somewhat confused juncture.

Democracies wither and die in the sterile soil of indifference, apathy, cynicism and their offspring, lack of participation. There is no better poster child to illustrate this than our current federal "majority" government.

I can't say the nightmare has any real beginning. The other recurring dream I have, the falling dream, always starts the same unique way. It's easy to identify and get ready to enjoy.

There's a famous experiment in the annals of learning. It involves a jar, a banana and a monkey. I know it sounds very similar to jokes that start, "There was a priest, a rabbi and a minister," but that's where the similarity ends.

I am not, as I've stated before, a journalist. Journalists gather news and report; I opine. Clare, the editor, tells me journalists are supposed to be objective. Priests tell me priests are supposed to be celibate.

So many labour issues; so little space. Predictably, it's the day after Labour Day, also known as the First Day of School... but not this year.

Well, it's almost time to take a day off and celebrate the fact we'll all have to go back to work on Tuesday, the day after Labour Day.

Warning: The following column contains Opinion, leavened with substantial attempts at humour, a subject about which there is little consensus. Any tangible suggestions contained herein, while potentially feasible, are largely circumstantial.

There comes a time in the lives of many people when they have to face an unpleasant truth — home is no longer the welcoming, nurturing place it once was and, reluctantly, it's time to leave.